


great hatred, little room

by cupofkey



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Conspiracy, Corporate bullshit, Corruption, Cybernetics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hacking, Hopeful Ending, Morally Ambiguous Character, Music, Mystery, Nyotalia, Orphans, Other, Police Brutality, Propaganda, Punk Rock, Science Fiction, Sisters, Technobabble, Violence against Children, all r/ships are pretty background, also slang i invented, general badassery, girlboss moments, i mean a lot of them are, nonconformity/alt stuff, not much of a shippy fic, queer/gay/trans/bi/nb characters, the works!, warning england is a piece of shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofkey/pseuds/cupofkey
Summary: The world is apathetic; withering, uncaring, unrelenting. Implanted technology is the new normal, corporatism is the new government, and a seething scene of rebels against it all lurks below. Amelia is a propagandist hungry for bigger changes as she scales the corporate ladder, while Linh is a private investigator caught up in a sinister case.At first, their paths are entirely separate. But life has a funny way of working things out.(a story about: power, family, and the burden of knowledge.)
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), China/India (Hetalia), Lithuania/Poland (Hetalia), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Taiwan/Vietnam (Hetalia)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 21





	1. parallel

**Author's Note:**

> make sure to read the tags please!! if reading something containing a lot of violence, trauma and mental illness, death, corruption, propaganda, and injustice sounds bad, this is not gonna be the story for you. however it's very much my own cathartic expression of my feelings about the world, so keep that in mind. also, there will NOT be any "predicting the future" or relevance to IRL events; this is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. zero correlation to reality. in the same vein, characters are characterized in a way I feel is appropriate to the AU, their pasts, their surroundings etc, so I'm not going with many of the usual traits and tropes on this one.
> 
> there's a decent amount of slang and techy words that I've created. [here](https://cupofkey.tumblr.com/post/631660930467610624/hi-heres-my-big-vocab-list-of-slang-from-great) is a full list, and any new/pertinent words in the chapter will be discussed in the end notes. so if you're confused feel free to go check those out first! speaking of references, [here is a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5gRFlCJjAJ579QDJpGUjgd?si=Y6zN-5nzSqubYmv6hYRUDQ) I made for this fic.
> 
> with all that being said-- this has been so much fun for me to brainstorm and write, and I really hope I can share some of that feeling :) this AU is something I'm really happy with ! and it's been very cathartic to pour out all my frustrations into this. please enjoy :)
> 
> ps. Linh is the name I use for Vietnam, Meg is my name for nyo Canada!

_ I ranted to the knave and fool,  
_ _ But outgrew that school,  
_ _ Would transform the part,  
_ _ Fit audience found, but cannot rule  
_ _ My fanatic heart. _

_ I sought my betters: though in each  
_ _ Fine manners, liberal speech,  
_ _ Turn hatred into sport,  
_ _ Nothing said or done can reach  
_ _ My fanatic heart. _

_ Out of Ireland have we come.  
_ _ Great hatred, little room,  
_ _ Maimed us at the start.  
_ _ I carry from my mother's womb  
_ _ A fanatic heart. _

_ W. B. Yeats, “Remorse For Intemperate Speech” _

* * *

“Yeah, I did get the promotion,” Amelia says. She can’t help the grin tugging on her face, full and wide, every fluttering pulse of pride beaming out through her smile. “Didn’t think it was poss, but I did. They’re pinging everyone about it tomorrow.”

Orion whoops, the sound momentarily clipping in Amelia’s rings, and he sets down his third glass of who-knows-what to give her an exaggerated high five. Tyra just pats Amelia on the back, smiling faintly. Her martini is still untouched.

“Good to hear, good to hear,” she says, “and you were asking for a while, weren’t you? You surprised?”

“Oh, nah,” Amelia says, shrugging it off, stirring her soda with the straw. Yes, she  _ had  _ been asking for months— but it had seemed inevitable, really, completely poss. After all, things like this are simply a matter of time. She knows this, acutely knows every move to make, every way to win, every possible facet of working in audcom.

Amelia takes a sip, peers at the other two over her luxes, letting her eyes graze easily over their careful expressions. (They clearly don’t know, not the way she knows.)

_ It’s not hyperbole— nobody’s better at industry politics, but I’m trying to be humble where I can. Guess Tyra’s just a little slow on that part. _

Tyra, to her credit, only nods serenely, taking a miniscule sip of her drink.

“Well, of  _ course  _ you’re not surprised,” Orion says, downing the rest of his glass before leaning back with a smirk. “I’m not surprised either. You excited to boss us around, department manager?”

“Am I ever,” Amelia says with a chuckle that’s anything but sarcastic.  _ Of course I am. _ “I’ve already started drafting a couple of policy changes, so keep your eyes peeled.”

“Oh?” Tyra says. Orion, too, turns to her with a curious glance.

“Some ownership stuff,” Amelia drawls, “a little bit more review done on management’s side, maybe a change in the usual song clearance process. Just trying to streamline stuff, caught?”

“Yeah, caught,” Orion says. “Although…”

He trails off, eyes settled uncomfortably into Amelia’s through the lenses of his luxes. All at once, something frosty creeps over the booth, dampening the chatter around them and sinking deep. Their careful smiles from before begin to sour before her eyes.

“Hmm?” she says.

“Oh, no, I just…”

The light glints off his frames in a way that feels blinding, and she can already tell he’s looking something up, maybe even privately pinging Tyra something— probably, judging by the way both of them are suddenly blank-eyed and quiet.

_ That’s right, Tyra got vias done last week. You can even see them flickering over her eyes right now, see through the modded eye color, the flimsy glare shielding. It’s the most obvious thing in the world. _

_ Ah, they’re probably drumming all kinds of shit about me, aren’t they? _

“Well, what do you mean,” Orion says slowly, “by ownership stuff? Are you shifting snippet ownership regulations around?”

As expected. Strick this, time to make her exit. Amelia doesn’t bother even trying to give a convincing performance, just swallowing the last dregs of her soda before standing up with a grin.

“Actually,” she says, “my sister’s—”

Her rings start chiming, a ping popping up in the corner of her vision, and Amelia could almost laugh at how perfect the timing is.

**Meg >** I’m picking you up

She doesn’t even bother subvocing a response, just thanks her lucky stars and plants her hands on her hips.  _ What a coincidence. Thank god for Meg. _

“Yeah, sorry, my sister just pinged,” she says, wiggling her fingers at both of them. “Urgent as always, so I’m off. Have fun!”

“Oh— uh,” Orion says, and adjusts his luxes awkwardly on the bridge of his nose. “Well, have a good night.”

“And congrats again,” Tyra adds. Amelia doesn’t miss that quick glance they share with each other— but she smiles back anyway, giving them a final wave before turning to leave, weaving through tables and groups with hurried steps. 

It all drops the moment she steps foot outside of the bar.  _ What a pain. _ Inside, someone shrieks with laughter, the sound vibrating unpleasantly through her rings. She flicks a couple settings across her view and shifts them quieter.

What a pain. What a stricking pain. Amelia sticks her hands in her pockets, tries to breathe slowly. 

_ Can’t fucking believe it here. Let’s not forget who actually got the promotion. Stricking losers. _

Granted, it’s a little easier to calm down outside. The air is fresh, erring on the side of cool, and the street is empty for the most part. Really, the only activity is the gentle flicker of shopfronts and the ever-present flow of adstreaming messages up above. Staring up at them makes her eyes burn and her vision blur— Amelia reaches up to trace along the temples of her luxes, running her finger along the right-side panel until her vision corrects to be a little less murky in the dark. (The panel itself is a little scuffed, and she flicks a quick note across her view to get that fixed sometime.)

Now she can see all the way down the street without too much eyestrain, flicking her eyes over the alleyway to her left to zoom in here and there, and she absentmindedly fiddles with her rings until the adstream’s loud enough to hear.

In a way, it’s soothing. Familiar— the messenger sounds the same. The music sounds the same. Even the spiel of corporatisms, self-deprecating and clever, slippery and fanatic, is exactly the way it always is. And then the jingle Amelia wrote last month:  _ up and down, up and down, up and up and up, _ she thinks to herself, humming along with the melody going up and down and up.  _ Remind yourself. You did this— you’re doing good. You’re gonna keep doing good. _

_ Up and up and up and up. _

The panel in her lower left view tells her Meg’s a minute away. She listens to the adstream for a little longer, picking out the jingles and snippets she knows, listening for the background bleedthrough of songs that always seems to be omnipresent. There’s Wereco’s latest single— then something she can’t really place, although it sounds like something from Pleight—

“Amelia,” Meg’s voice says, drumming in and cutting through the adstream— Amelia flinches and glances over to see her sister on her ecobike at the end of the street, holding up a gloved hand, her glossy helmet covering her face completely.

“Hey!” Amelia says, turning down the volume and jogging over. “How was the ride?”

Meg shrugs and tosses her a helmet. “It was fine. Did you wait long? Have a good time?”

“Nah, not at all,” Amelia chuckles. “To both of those. You saved me from some real annoying crackle back there.”

Meg snorts. “Really? How so?”

“People being irritating about my promotion,” Amelia says, swinging her leg over the seat of the bike and leaning into Meg’s back. “You know how it is, you heard them in the office today, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Meg says.

They don’t say anything after that— Meg just starts up her bike, and off they go, Amelia loosely holding on and staring out at that gentle pulsing of the streets whirring past.

It’s a special kind of weekday night, the kind of night where everything is dampened and unfamiliar. Even the adstreams feel pretty in their own strange way: their pale, bright colors, blurry faces shifting softly over the sky, are like flattened clouds. Convenience stores and shopfronts stream past in blurry ribbons of sterile white light, silvery mirrors of the sky above. Soon, the few bikes and cars around dissipate as they merge onto the freeway, and Amelia finds herself thinking about how empty it feels for 21:00, how silent. She can’t remember the last time things felt like this— she usually drums with Meg’s music so they can listen to it together, but Meg’s link says she’s not listening to anything at the moment, and so the only sound in Amelia’s rings is the gentle buzz of the adstream.

_ Fine with me. I could just fall asleep like this, _ she thinks.  _ Meg’s warm. And I’m home soon… _

She lets her eyes close, lets her thoughts shut off, luxuriating in the gentle buffeting breeze, the slight chill in her hands.

“Amelia, hey,” Meg’s voice says. “We’re home.”

“Oh— already?” Amelia mumbles, lifting her bleary eyes from Meg’s back. It’s their apartment’s old parking garage, a couple of lights fluttering on and off, a familiar sight all in all. She straightens up and cracks her neck.

“Did you fall asleep?” Meg says.

“Nah,” Amelia replies. “Well, maybe a little. I’m wide awake now, though. Thanks for picking me up.”

They pull off their helmets— Meg adjusts her luxes, blinking at the light and running a hand over her braids. Amelia does the same, and for a moment they glance over each other wordlessly, a silent check of  _ are we good? _ before stowing the helmets away and heading off to the elevator doors.

They’re silent again, walking down the hallway to their apartment, Amelia flicking up the passcode on her luxes and opening the door. Meg taps her shoulder— 

“Are we good?” she says, repeating it with her eyes and locking the door behind her.

“We’re great,” Amelia says. “What is it?”

They stare at each other— Meg opens her mouth, nothing coming out. Amelia blinks back. And suddenly she feels like the silence lying between them is tired, worn, straining, somehow a far cry from the peace and calm of five minutes ago.

“Are you…” Meg says, her voice hesitant, slow. “Look, that promotion, whatever happened at the bar. What’s going on?”

_ Wonderful. Here we go again. _

Amelia sighs deeply, plunking herself down on the sofa and shrugging off her jacket. “What, you’re not happy for me? You know how long I’ve been wanting this, don’t you?”

Meg shrugs. “Sure,” she says, terse, small. “Just… what are you planning now?”

“What makes you think I’m planning something?”

“Well, you’ve told me,” Meg says flatly.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Amelia says, leaning back and kicking up her feet on the coffee table. “So? Nothing’s changed. You see what I do at work every day, you know I’m still doing what I can. Planning the future. Playing their game just fine, caught?”

Meg gulps, her eyes wandering everywhere but Amelia’s face, hands loosely grasping at her jacket.

“I just think you… okay. Never mind,” she breathes out, already turning to put away her jacket and bags.

Amelia can’t help the twinge of irritation that rises up in her throat at that. “Never mind what? Are you gonna keep talking in codes? You got a problem?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Meg snaps, and she turns back to Amelia without a trace of the nervousness from before, her face stony and set. “Ever considered how much I want you to be safe? I don’t want audcom to swallow you up completely, god knows you’re halfway there, seeing how raged you are these days—”

“I’m  _ raged, _ really?” Amelia cuts in. “I’m achieving the future I’ve always dreamed of, and that’s raging? I’m making the changes I always said I would make. I’m doing everything right. Why the hell would I be raged about that?”

Meg’s face hardens even more—

“Don’t mask with me,” she says.

Amelia pushes on. “What, are you jealous or something?”

“No,” Meg grits out, “I’m not. Actually, I’m quitting next week.”

Any words or retorts Amelia had in mind crumble away, and even breathing feels impossible as she stares up at her sister.

_ She’s… _

_ She’s quitting? _

A million thoughts rush up through Amelia’s chest— a million little snippets of betrayal, hurt, fear, discomfort, anger, feelings she can’t name, much less comprehend. She started the day with a promotion— and now she’s here— and it doesn’t make sense at all. Meg clenches her eyes closed, and her face reflects Amelia’s thoughts right back at her.

“Yes,” she says. “I am. I can’t work audcom another minute. I’m not going back. Not with everything you’re doing.”

“What—” Amelia chokes out, her head spinning, “what, what’s wrong with what I do for audcom?”

“You know, you’ve always been like this,” Meg continues, her face painful, her words landing heavily. “You lose sight of everything, because at the end of the day you just want more. You want the credit. You want the title. You want them to pull you up and take you in—”

Her voice cracks, wobbling precariously on that last word, and before Amelia can even process any of it Meg’s already rushing off to her room. She doesn’t thunder, doesn’t stomp. She doesn’t even slam the door. Like a mote of dust, she simply sweeps herself out of reach, and Amelia is left blinking at an empty patch of floor.

“Meg?” she finally says— but she wouldn’t be surprised if her sister’s switched off her rings’ receptors by now, and it’s not a surprise when nobody responds.

_ I’m sorry _ is supposed to come next. Then  _ I didn’t mean that, _ right?

_ What did I even mean in the first place? _

Bust, this is a headache. Amelia slouches, dissolves into the couch, screwing her eyes shut and trying to focus on tuning her rings back to her adstream. Everything is all scrambled— her hands are shaking too much to really finagle with the manual dials, her head is too mixed up to shift the channel— all she can hear is buzzing, chattering, up and down, up and down, up and up and up…

_ My head is completely fen. How many times have we done this? We were completely fine just a few minutes ago. _

_ And she hasn’t ever mentioned being unhappy with work, has she?  _

_ No— every time I see her at work, she’s fine, every time we talk about work, she’s fine, it’s just me with the problem, me with too much on my plate, trying too hard, wanting too much, wanting to fix everything, wanting to have it all, to be pulled up and taken in— _

Enough. Amelia flicks all the settings on her rings as low as they can go, ears buzzing as she stands up on shaking legs. She goes to her room and, on a total whim, pulls up some of her old sheet music on her luxes while she changes clothes. One stands out, for some reason she can’t quite place— it’s the sheet music for one of the crackle compositions she’d written when she had just started working audcom, a ratty old thing, outmoded and simple. A vague and amateurish attempt at originality, really.

“But it’s jazzy,” she had insisted every time. “Improvisational. Vintage.” No, it’s crackle, and Amelia doesn’t have to look at it ever again. 

(She doesn’t want to put it away just yet.)

_ Just a little. Indulge in it, just a little. _

So she takes out the old ecoguitar, tunes it up with her rings. It’s not a bad time. Her fingers aren’t used to the sharp strings, and her hands are slow and straining, but the notes and chords start to ring nicely. The song is obviously stupid— devoid of magnetism, strength, energy, a far cry from the types of audcom compositions she makes nowadays— just a stupid little song. She keeps playing.

At some point, careful melodies dissolve into reckless chords, delicate picking into quick and rough strums. She lets herself enjoy it, nonetheless. Tomorrow’s another day. The future is opening up to her, with or without Meg. And Amelia is going to get every last drop out of this promotion, wring it desert-dry, until this hell lets out its last rattling breath. 

For now, she doesn’t think anymore. She just plays.

* * *

“We’re talking about children here, do you realize that?” Linh says. She stares at Francis’s hunched-over self, watching for a sign of  _ anything _ — the cafe’s dim light strains her eyes, and so truly glaring him down is impossible. It’s an irksome reminder of just how much she hates meeting people here. It’s an enraging reminder of how much she hates meeting Francis in particular.

Francis, meanwhile, just smiles that same tight-lipped smile, his eyes faraway and full of mimed remorse. “My apologies. I really can’t give you the kind of information you’re looking for.”

“Children,” she repeats, because it’s true— they’re talking about children, babies, adults too, but the central point remains— “Children, dying. Dismembered. Dissected. If you know all the gory details about this case, I think you can make an exception for that.”

“What, like every other time?” Francis huffs, fiddling with his cigarette, still staring off into nowhere. “I’m afraid that’s not the case with this job. I genuinely can’t help you.”

“But you know  _ something _ ,” Linh says pointedly. “Clearly. And I know your circles overlap all too well with the locations and individuals involved.”

Francis shrugs. “Well, that’s all subjective, isn’t it? Who’s to say I’m involved with anything?”

_ Who’s to say I can’t end you right here? Infuriating. Stricking infuriating. _

He taps the side of his skims, a rather gaudy pair with round, red lenses, like he’s been recording all of this— Linh presses her fist into her thigh, grits her teeth, closes her eyes for a moment, as if any of it will quell the flood of frustration sweeping into her chest.

Of course it doesn’t. Francis is still there, probably double-crossing her right in front of her face, smug and silent. He scratches at his stubble, still staring at her with deep, sunken eyes, as if he’s receding even further into his own world, taking every crumb of information with him.

He looks exhausted— he looks spiteful— he looks impossible. At this point, her hands are just begging to shoot out and throttle him.

“You,” she says lowly, “owe me. So much. And this isn’t even much to ask, seeing how much I know already, and you can’t even try to cooperate.”

“And whose fault is that?” Francis replies— raises an infuriating eyebrow— “You’re not the only person who needs something, and you know whose side I’m on.”

_ No, I don’t, _ Linh thinks, because she doesn’t. Because he says this every time, as if it’s some kind of bitter truth they have to live with, as if it’s not ridiculous and mocking and evident that he’s not on anyone’s side, not even his own—

_ This stricking traitor. I can’t stand him. I can’t believe how much I’m risking for this fen garbage. _

“I’ve already offered my side of the bargain,” she finally says. “I expected something of substance from you. But have it your way.”

Francis laughs humorlessly, pushing his ridiculous hair out of his face. “Don’t push me more than you should. You set your standards too high, Linh. You know exactly the kind of lowlife I am— who else would even  _ consider  _ selling  _ you  _ this kind of intel? Especially for such a high-profile case.”

She blinks hard at that—

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“As far as the entire world is concerned,” Francis continues, steepling his fingers with a horrible kind of focus, “you never existed. You’re a nonperson, even to the majority of crash. The only reason you’re still alive and handling these cases is because M values your work, even though your sources are just me, old man Wang, and Chrys, and that’s not exactly a safety net—”

“That’s enough,” Linh says firmly— and something sour settles in her throat, something sinister.

Francis stubs out his cigarette in his empty glass. “I don’t know why you think I can give you anything,” he says. “As if you and M are the only people seeing what’s been going on lately? Why don’t you go ask Wang instead? After all, you know his brother and sister well enough…”

“You really don’t know  _ anything _ , do you?” Linh snarls, standing up to shove her chair back, all the blood in her body suddenly surging up through her head. 

Some part of her resolve breaks, unable to hold anything back anymore— every part of her is left trembling.

_ I’m going to kill him, _ every part of her screams. _ I’m going to kill him. _

“Don’t ever ping me again. And stay the hell away from us, caught?”

“I’ll see you,” Francis merely says, but Linh’s already turned to leave, slipping her skims over her eyes and yanking up her balaclava with trembling hands—

_ Ignore it. Ignore it, get out, _ she says to herself,  _ get out, go around this table, open the door. Breathe. Get out. _

Stumbling out and onto the sidewalk, she flicks a couple programs across her view to scan her kitt for bugs, making her way over to where she parked her ecobike. The street is bustling, everything honking and groaning with noise. Above, the sun casts a weak light, filtered through the smog and the adstreams, somehow too bright and too dim at the same time.

_(Don’t push me,_ Francis had said. _Go ask Wang,_ _you know his brother and sister well enough.)_

Shivers run through her back and chest, because she knows what he really means by that— exactly the threat it implies, exactly the assurance that  _ yes, I know where you live, I know who’s important, I  _ know, _ and you don’t. _

She’s really regretting her outburst. Really, truly regretting it. 

_ I’m the one who doesn’t know anything. Not even counting Francis, I can’t make heads or tails of this, and if I don’t get paid we’re stricked, and if I have to see another dissected human brain and examine all the little bits and pieces I think I’m going to— _

_ I’m… _

Linh gulps down as much air as she can, and she flicks the ping window up on the left side of her view to subvoc Moreira a quick message while she starts her bike:

**> ** Nothing from that. I’m not going there again

Almost immediately, Moreira pings back.

**M >** Alright, that’s fine. Thanks N   
**M > ** Day after, 14   
**>** Caught

Linh flicks the window closed and merges onto the main street, rolling her shoulders back and straightening herself up. Right, it’s not the end of the world— it’s not. She won’t contact him again. She’ll wipe her trail completely, she’ll get it all sorted out at that meeting with Moreira, do some more digging, go scope out the crime scenes again… 

_ I didn’t want to depend on Francis anyway. I really stricking didn’t. _

The thought doesn’t make her feel much better, though. Linh tries to focus on any of the other horrible draining things around her— well, traffic is crackle today. The adstream keeps blaring into her eyes, somehow stabbing through the settings on her skims, feeling strangely sinister. Reallly, every part of existing in this moment feels like a chore beyond comprehension. It takes every drop of energy she has left in her body to stay upright on her bike, to keep going, to keep breathing.

Finally turning off the freeway, a new message pings up in the corner of her view:

**Mei! >** babe are you getting home?

Linh lets herself smile for once underneath the balaclava, speeding up as she subvocs a response.

**>** Yeah, be there in a few   
**>** Long day.   
**Mei! >** almost there!!   
**Mei! >** imu   
**>** I miss you too.   
**Mei! >** come home soon <3

Soon can’t come soon enough. It feels like an eternity before Linh finally pulls into the shopfront under their apartment, walking her bike into the back storeroom and rushing up the stairs, footsteps quick and breathing deep. It’s hard to feel the straining of her lungs over the rushed pounding of her heart. So she slows down at the door, fumbles with her key for another eternity. 

It’s all good, though, all fine the moment Linh gets the door open, barely closing it behind her before Mei pulls her into a tight embrace.

“Hey,” Mei murmurs.

_ She’s warm. She smells really good. I missed her. _

“Hey,” Linh replies, her heartbeat still pounding.

“Glad you’re back,” Mei says, and her voice is all muffled in Linh’s shoulder, pulling her in for a final squeeze before loosening up. “Wanna eat?”

“That’d be nice,” Linh says, reaching up to pull off her balaclava and skims. “Did you make something?”

“Yep!” Mei says. “Got home from work early, so I dropped by Yao’s to get groceries. I figured I’d get the cooking out of the way.”

It’s something simple, small, something they’ve both done a million times. Linh puts her shoes away and holds on to that lingering warmth in her chest nonetheless.

Things are peaceful, slow. Dinner is as good as it always is, and they clean up together, wordless as they work. Linh goes to take a shower afterward, stares at herself in the mirror for entirely too long before stepping in.  _ Things are peaceful, _ she reminds herself.  _ Things are slow. She’s safe, I’m safe right now. He can’t get to me. He can’t. Just breathe.  _

_ Breathe. Get in the hot water and breathe. _

Taking a shower doesn’t get rid of the issue at hand, but it’s enough to compose herself and get her thoughts back together. When she comes out, Mei’s sitting on the bed, scrolling through the netfeed on her screen— Linh settles down next to her and finds herself leaning her head on Mei’s shoulder, letting her eyes slip shut. At some point, their hands twine together easily, and everything in Linh’s mind softens into comfortable illegibility.

_ I’m so tired. I could just fall asleep. _

“I could just fall asleep right now,” she murmurs aloud, eyes still closed.

“You should,” Mei says. “Did something happen today?”

“Understatement,” Linh says, sighs. “Francis— he brought up my status. No clue why.”

“Wait, your status?”

“Mm. Yeah. I really don’t understand him. He was going on and on about how much of an unperson I was, how stricked I was.”  _ Deep breaths. Deep breaths. _

Mei doesn’t say anything, just pulls Linh closer.  _ Breathe. You’re safe. _

“And,” Linh finally grits out, “he mentioned you. And your brothers, and I think he knows about us, and I was just…”

“Jeez,” Mei sighs. “Really?”

“Yeah. I think I pried too far. It really felt like a… I don’t know. Like a death threat,” Linh says, and her voice is shaking so much more than it should. “I mean, that’s the usual, and threats are nothing new. I just— don’t know.”

Mei sucks in a quick breath and gives Linh’s arm a squeeze. “Well, you’re not pinging him anymore for intel, right?”

“No. Not worth it.”

“Oh, thank god,” Mei says. “Here, give me one second.”

She leans away, and Linh cracks open an eye to see Mei stowing away her screen before reaching to pull the blanket over both of them.

“Thanks,” Linh says.

A moment later, the lights flicker off, and there’s nothing beyond the warmth surrounding her and the gentle rasp of Mei’s breathing. The whole world shrinks into their singularity. The usual ruckus of the street outside melts off, the exploding anger and anxiety from before sloughing away too, until all that’s left is this. 

Linh lets herself escape for a moment, lets herself breathe easy.  _ It’s okay. Just a moment. _

“We’re gonna be okay,” Mei says, pulling Linh closer and nestling into her. “You know that, right?”

“I don’t know,” Linh says.  _ I hope so. _

“I think so. He’s not a clinker, is he?”

Linh frowns, traces idle lines across Mei’s back. “No, I don’t think so. He works in audcom, last I checked. He just knows enough of them to fen everything.”

“So you think he’s threatening to sic his cop buddies on you if you won’t back off?” Mei says. 

Linh sighs. “It might be complete crackle on my part, but yes. Maybe.”

“No, I get it.” Mei’s voice is brittle. “Bust, I really stricking hate them. I’m sorry he threatened you like that.”

“It’s…” Linh starts, stops. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not, though.”

“I’ll make it through. Just… be safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Mei huffs softly, resting her chin on Linh’s head. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that department. I’ll do what I have to.”

Linh can’t help chuckling at that. “What, are you going to shoot him?”

“I have a collection for a reason, you know.”

“I guess you do.”

“Just, you know, give it some time,” Mei says, running a slow hand through Linh’s hair. “We can talk about your case more tomorrow, okay? Go over the details with my brothers? But no more worrying over it for now.”

“Okay,” Linh says. “I’ll give it a break.”

They’re silent for a while, and Linh is already starting to drift off, her limbs feeling heavy and her thoughts wisping away. The darkness is velvety, lovely all around her. Mei’s breathing slows down, and Linh finds herself mirroring it, soothing herself to sleep.

“Thank you,” she whispers, quiet enough to be a subvoc, burying her face further into Mei’s shoulder. “Good night.”

“I love you,” Mei whispers back. “Good night.”

Linh sinks into those words, diving into the gentle warmth behind them, and sleep finally takes her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some words to know:
> 
> rings/myRings/kitt: 3 words for the same thing. these are eardrum implants that function externally (unlike cochlears). they have some manual controls, but you can also "tune" them via an electrode network implanted under the skull that measures+uses your brain activity in a manner similar to neurofeedback. there's also an aspect of biofeedback where they automatically adjust to loud/soft sounds. I can give more details, but it's essentially a very advanced version of ECoG paired with various wearable/implantable tech. I'll talk about how and why and all that later.
> 
> luxes/myLux/skims: once again, 3 words for the same thing. these are essentially "smart glasses" that can also connect to that electrode, along with your other devices. same deal as rings, they have some manual controls, some biofeedback, and you could for example play a song on your rings by pulling it up on your luxes. hopefully that makes sense!
> 
> vias/myVias: similar function to luxes, but they're like implanted contact lenses rather than glasses
> 
> subvoc: [subvocalization](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Subvocalization) is "the internal speech typically made when reading ... characterized by minuscule movements in the larynx and other muscles involved in the articulation of speech". this is picked up by any implanted/wearable tech a person might have.
> 
> audcom: buzzword referring to the "commercial audio" industry. self explanatory
> 
> crash: alt/punk/underground scene
> 
> thanks for reading!


	2. needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi I'm back! this is a week later than I planned but it's all good, I'm very excited to keep sharing this stuff! hopefully life will get in the way less now that I've fixed some things going forward. I appreciate all the support on my first chapter SO SO SO MUCH... THANK YOU !! for reading kudos comments everything. I appreciate you so much <3
> 
> CW, there is brief talk of murder and dismemberment here, although it's not graphic. I might change the rating soon. also TW there's some family feuding and physical altercations. ALWAYS feel free to let me know if I can accommodate you better in any way (or if you just want me to define a word!).
> 
> as usual a couple words are explained at the bottom, [here](https://cupofkey.tumblr.com/post/631660930467610624/hi-heres-my-big-vocab-list-of-slang-from-great) is my full vocab list again along with [the playlist for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5gRFlCJjAJ579QDJpGUjgd?si=Y6zN-5nzSqubYmv6hYRUDQ). come hangout with me on [tumblr](https://cupofkey.tumblr.com) for progress updates, headcanons, me shitposting, all that. and I hope to have chapter three up by next week!
> 
> please enjoy :)

_And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,  
_ _For who not needs shall never lack a friend,  
_ _And who in want a hollow friend doth try,  
_ _Directly seasons him his enemy._

 _But, orderly to end where I begun,  
_ _Our wills and fates do so contrary run  
_ _That our devices still are overthrown.  
_ _Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own._

_Hamlet (3.2.206)_

* * *

The morning feels less heavy, at the very least. Linh stays in bed for a bit, letting her thoughts breathe easy while they still can, although the usual raucous honking and rumbling from the street eventually pushes her thoughts back into the land of the living. For once, some secret part of her wishes she had kitts to filter out the noise like everyone else.

 _Yeah, it’s too bad net can’t track you everywhere you go,_ Mei’s teasing voice says in her head, _too bad you don’t have to dess the absolute crackle out of them constantly._

 _Count your blessings,_ Linh supposes.

 _You know, it’s the one thing you can thank your parents for,_ her inner Mei continues. _That they didn’t care enough to stick in-tech into your three-year-old ears._

Isn’t that the truth. Linh smiles to herself, standing up to make the bed and get changed.

In the kitchen, her real Mei is chopping an apple into thin, fanned slices. She bobs her head to the song currently blaring from their screen, barely half-dressed for work— the song itself is loud, noised, very distinctly crash, the guitars and drums thundering.

“Who is this?” Linh asks, sitting down at the table.

Mei turns to her with a grin. “Good morning to you too. And I drummed it ‘cause I wanted you to hear the new drops, specifically this one. Which band do you think it is?”

Linh raises an eyebrow, trying to pick out the singer’s voice, hoarse and dragging. It doesn’t sound like Leon, who’s usually the culprit when it comes to the music Mei keeps up with— at the same time, it sounds entirely too familiar for her to not recognize it. (To be truthful, Linh’s never been too into crash music herself, but the exposure she gets from Mei is just enough for her to scrape by. Having a rudimentary knowledge of the scene is essential for navigating it, is how Linh likes to see it. Besides, Mei herself clearly gets a real kick out of every tidbit of knowledge Linh picks up about her interests, and Linh isn’t one to deprive her girlfriend of that in any way.)

“No clue,” she says, “who?”

Mei’s grin widens. “You will never believe this— it’s Toric, but _Talya’s_ the one singing.”

Talya— not even part of the band, at least last time Linh checked, although she’s high-profile in her own right when it comes to crash. 

_I’ve only met her once, although the details are fuzzy… Black lipstick, right?_

“Black lipstick,” Mei muses, echoing Linh’s thoughts as she raises her eyebrows, like she can read Linh’s mind. “She has a couple lip piercings too— yeah, she’s the one who does really tar tattoos… We ran into her together, didn’t we?”

 _Ah, we did._ “With her sisters?”

“Her whole crew, yeah,” Mei chuckles. “Honestly, I’m surprised she agreed to sing on this one. Sounds good, though, doesn’t she?”

Linh nods, stifling a yawn. _Not usually my speed,_ she thinks, _but she should keep singing._ Talya’s voice is oddly perfect for the kind of music Toric makes, landing right in that corner of idiosyncratic, loud, and entirely unabashed.

Mei, meanwhile, flicks the volume down and slides a plate of neatly-sliced apples onto the table. 

“Here,” she says, “thanks for listening to my loud music. And I know you had a rough day yesterday, so it’s fruit day today.”

Linh’s face slips into a smile before she can rein it back, something Mei mirrors immediately, echoing that reminder of their shared softness.

“Fruit day, huh,” Linh murmurs. “I guess we’re making it a thing now. Thank you.”

Mei sits down and takes a slice. “Yeah, ‘course,” she says, shrugging. “I figured we needed something nice, and we haven’t had any yet this month, so I thought I might as well go buy it since I’m not too fen.”

It sounds like it’s the most natural thing for her to say, the easiest thing for her to do. Linh supposes it is. So she takes the natural course of action too, slipping her hand over Mei’s on the table and closing her eyes to breathe for a moment.

_Let’s see…_

“I can take you to work today,” she says, trying to compose her thoughts. “I have to go talk to your brother anyway.”

“You want me to come with?” Mei asks.

Linh opens her eyes, resolutely avoiding Mei’s and taking a piece of apple to gnaw on. It’s tart, soft, nothing like the nicer kinds of apples you can get nowadays. The taste is comforting nonetheless— familiar and fragrant, like summers long ago, when a cheap apple was still cheap, each bite crispy and sweet— 

“No,” she finally says, blinking back to reality. “If it’s messy, you know how it’ll go. It’s okay. I know I can deal with it.”

“Okay,” Mei says, and she gives Linh’s hand a squeeze. “I know you can.”

“And I’ll be safe,” Linh says, realizing she’s already eaten through most of her share of the apple, the taste already lifting away from her tongue. “I just… don’t want to cause a personal fight, anything like that. But who knows.”

Mei snorts humorlessly. “Yeah, that’s Yao for you.” 

_Don’t worry, I get it,_ she seems to say.

“That’s Yao,” Linh repeats, sighing louder than she means to. “I’m not sure how much I can get out of him, honestly. And all my research is hitting a dead end, not even counting that disaster with Francis, which… no, I really haven’t progressed much… my current lead is a parts purchasing trail, but who knows if Yao can help me with that, either.”

“Ah, really?” Mei says, wincing as she takes a bite of apple, a slight frown on her face. “I thought you were doing better a few days ago?”

Linh shrugs. “I don’t know. I just know net isn’t involved— well, I’m pretty sure, and I trust myself on that, because net wouldn’t be wasting resources on something this elaborate. They would be completely transparent about it. They wouldn’t be… overthrowing themselves, which is what this is starting to look like…”

Mei grimaces. “Yep.”

“Besides, they don’t…” Linh trails off, biting her lip. “They just don’t care. About any of us, so that’s obviously a no. The people doing this are, if not a part of crash, people living in our world. They’re not lims, and they’re not net’s. They obviously know too much. Well— they’re obviously trying to do _something._ At this point, none of the tracers or clues I’ve been digging out match up with anything else.”

“Huh,” Mei says, nodding thoughtfully. “No, yeah, that completely drums. Do you think they know you’re after them?”

Linh presses her lips together. _Truthfully— yes. For comfort’s sake—_

“No,” she says, “well, I don’t know. Not really. Maybe.”

“Okay,” Mei says. She clearly doesn’t buy it. Linh doesn’t make any attempt to sell it, either.

“Just,” Mei finally says, biting her lip. “I know you can keep your head on your shoulders, but you really. _Really._ Have to stay safe. If they’re leaving a string of dessed-out people around the city, who knows what they’ll do next— and who knows what they really want, caught?”

“Yeah,” Linh says, “yeah. I will. Don’t worry.”

Mei looks straight at her, and Linh finds herself staring at all the tiny, insignificant details scattered over her girlfriend’s face, the worn-ness of it all— the beauty mark on her cheekbone, the way the kitchen lights and her eyelashes cast deep shadows under her eyes— the round, light lines of her eyes and lips, dappling redness on her cheeks, a certain reaching-out deep in her pupils.

 _When this is all over, I’ll take us away from here,_ Linh thinks to herself. _Far away. I’m so tired of being tired._

“Hoping is hard,” Mei says at last. “I don’t wanna hope you’re okay, caught? I just wanna know.”

“Yeah,” Linh says. “I do too.”

On the screen, Toric’s music is still playing quietly, and the noisy buzz is oddly comforting over the thoughts churning in her head. The surge hasn’t stopped since last night, not at all— _because there’s been twenty-three people as of last week,_ she thinks. _Kitts all tampered with beyond repair, beyond normal dessing, brains all dissolved and runny and crackle, all cut up into pieces to be dumped out— and I’m here, trying to understand these nobodies— trying to track these orphans, these dead stricking kids, these last remnants of Deposition…_

_Deposition, again, rearing its ugly head. I wonder, would they be dead if it wasn’t for that?_

_(A lot of people wouldn’t be dead, if it wasn’t for that.)_

_But that’s not… no, it’s not relevant. The actual problem is, I don’t have the equipment to deal with brain matter anyway, I’m just passing it all to Moreira, I don’t even do anything. I can’t. I don’t know what to do in the first place, no, I’m just useless at this point—_ (Francis’s words come back, too true for their own good: _the only reason you’re still alive is because M values your work. Not exactly a safety net._ Linh would rather bite off her tongue than admit it. He’s right.) He’s right. He’s alive, and she’ll be dead in the next month, right?

“Linh. Linh!”

Linh blinks, and Mei’s hands are firm on her shoulders, eyes drilling into her.

“Sorry,” she says— “Sorry, just wasn’t paying attention.”

Mei doesn’t say anything, and suddenly Linh is enveloped in her arms, flooded by rushing warmth and silent comfort. Mei’s squeezing tight, tight enough to bruise. Linh doesn’t ever want her to let go. They hold each other like that for a while, and crumbling away has never felt easier, never less restrained by each battering breath she has to take. For a moment— she dissolves, and she stays that way.

“Thank you,” Linh says, when she can feel her feet on the floor again.

“I love you,” Mei says. She squeezes Linh one final time, the way she always does, before slowly letting go. “And I gotta get to work soon.”

Linh glances at the screen— it’s already 9:30, and the drive to Mei’s office is about twenty minutes— she nods, and Mei pecks her on the forehead before rushing off, presumably to finish getting ready.

Being alone in the kitchen feels slightly otherworldly. Linh listens to a little more of the current song playing, absently picking out the voices she knows, small nuances shifting underneath rolling guitar licks. There’s Evi, smooth and high-voiced. Anya harmonizing, low and moody, then Vic’s voice seguing in…

_They sound free. I remember the last time I met them, they were so detached, so solid in their separation— estranged from this world, only living in their own._

The song tapers off, and Linh stands up to turn off the screen, her mouth dry with anticipation. She reminds herself she has business to take care of, things to do. She has a case to solve. She has meetings to conduct, data to sift through, people to see, research to resume.

_(If only I could estrange myself. If only I could free myself—_

_From what?)_

* * *

The ride to Mei’s office passes by quickly, and before Linh knows it, she’s already letting go of Mei, watching her enter the building before starting her ecobike again— the area’s less shifty than their neighborhood, for better or for worse, and Linh bundles herself even tighter under her balaclava. It’s still crash territory, but it’s relevant enough for there to be netbugs worming around— a cursory glance down the street exposes at least a dozen of the little strickers, her skims highlighting their blinking eyes, deflecting hundreds of their scans as they pop up.

 _And thank god for that dess,_ Linh thinks. _I’d be fen if it wasn’t for Chrys. Really, we all would._

Chrys… she does have a favor to cash with him, she remembers. _We’ll see how getting data from Yao goes. Worst comes to worst, I can always fall back on him, ask him to help me crack a few ping lines instead of going the long way…_

It’s another drab day. The morning sun is weak, diffused over the usual blanket of smog and adstreams. Linh weaves through traffic, trying to keep her eyes from searching for that point of light behind all the clutter and crackle, no matter how much she wants to catch a glimpse of sky for once.

(Because there’s no sky anymore, just the endless adstream— and honestly, she tries to avoid looking at that as much as she can.) 

_What is there to look at, really? Net propaganda for new earworms to listen to, new pornbots to watch and buy, new mods to make crackle ecofoods a little more palatable, new garbage to absorb and throw away…_

_No, there’s nothing to look at. Not at all._

Linh takes the next turnoff, flicking a quick message to Yao across her view.

 **>** I’m dropping by.   
**Yao Wang >** Not a good time   
**>** Too bad. I told you I would   
**> ** I’m almost there.   
**Yao Wang >** Deal with Leon yourself, then

_I’m not even there and they’re already arguing?_

Linh sighs, flicking the window away, her mouth dry with equal parts nervousness and anticipation. The shop is just a block ahead— the lights are still off. When she finally slows to a stop in front of the sliding doors, she can barely see two silhouettes inside, caught in some silent conversation.

_They’re definitely arguing. Strick._

She’d like to think she has a sense of self-preservation— it’s essential in this line of work, after all— but she might just need to butt in on their spat more than she needs to hold onto her dignity. Besides, Leon is always helpful, always in the know about everything she could possibly ask of him, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to get his help too.

So Linh flicks the door open, pushing her ecobike into the cramped shop by the handlebars. Immediately, she’s assaulted with raised voices, although they stop a moment later as Yao and Leon turn to stare at her over precarious piles of dated tech and reams of papers. What follows is one of the more awkward stare-offs Linh has ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

“Hey,” Leon finally says, his voice terse and short. He peers at her over his skims, raising a pierced eyebrow, his hood pushing his hair into his eyes. He looks different from the last time she saw him— sharper, cutting.

“Hey,” she replies. “I wanted to talk to you two about something.”

Yao huffs, clearly exasperated, and Leon doesn’t look too far from doing the same. 

_For all their sparring, they sure are related._ Linh resists the urge to huff right back. _After all, it’s not my fault they can’t get along, or just estrange each other completely…_

“What is it,” Yao says, and his voice is flat, tired.

He’s wearing gloves, hair pulled back severely. It looks like he just came back from dissecting something— he probably did, come to think of it—

_Focus. Breathe. Focus. This is for us._

“It’s about the case I’m working on,” Linh says. “I need a full list of last week’s part trading data in this area, give or take a couple days.”

Yao raises an eyebrow. “And you think I’d give it to you?”

“Yes,” Linh says dryly. “You still owe me from that bag of kitt receptors I sold you. You promised, and you told me _today._ ”

They stare at each other for another long moment, and Yao blinks slowly at her, clearly unwilling, clearly not intending to ever dig out the data.

“Sorry,” he says, clearly not sorry in the slightest, “but I’m a little caught up with something right now. I told you, come back later, and we can negotiate.”

“No,” Linh says firmly— because “later” is just a “never” when it comes to Yao, and if she gives him even an inch he’ll wring out a mile and give her nothing in return. “No, you’re going to give me the information you _promised_ to give me, and I’m going to get it without being strung along.”

_I always have to do this, don’t I. Every time._

_As if he’s any different from Francis._

“Just let it slide, old man,” Leon drawls, bunching his fists in the pockets of his hoodie. “I think you’ve had enough power tripping for one day.”

Yao turns to glare at him with pure poison in his eyes— Leon glares right back. Linh is _tired._

“Look,” she says, trying to keep her voice level, “I don’t care what’s going on with you two at this point. I don’t want to be in your hair. I just need my data, caught?”

Yao shoots that same look in her direction. “And I _said_ I’m busy. Can you understand that?”

 _No, you’re not,_ Linh wants to say, to shout right in his face, because she has absolutely zero interest in mediating this argument just to get a dataset that’ll take him thirty seconds to get. Yao, meanwhile, looks like he’s a few choice words from physically throwing her out.

_What are they even stricking arguing about, anyway? What reason is there to be this raged this early in the morning?_

“Sorry,” Leon says— it’s directed right at Linh, it seems— and then he socks Yao in the jaw, and by the time the noise hits Linh’s ears and her eyes process what just happened, Yao’s already lunging back.

“Fuck you,” Leon is yelling, shoving Yao away from him, “ _fuck_ you, you goddamn beeper, you don’t deserve _crackle—_ ”

Yao grabs Leon’s shoulder, shoving him right back— “I’m the undeserving one? You want to say that again? Ungrateful,” he smacks Leon’s cheek hard, “stupid,” and he does it again, “I should have let them take you, I should have let you stay there forever, look at how you turned out—”

“Enough—” Linh yells, and when Leon reaches out to punch Yao again, she shoves herself between them, heart pounding in her ears and vision swimming with adrenaline. “ _Enough!_ ”

Silence. Yao’s breathing heavily. Leon heaves too, but he’s silent, hunched over himself.

“I don’t give a damn what you’re fighting about,” Linh says slowly. “I don’t care. But I _didn’t_ come here to babysit.”

“Shut up,” Yao mutters.

“Do _not_ talk to me like that,” Linh snaps— and jerks her hand out of the way just as Yao grabs for the wrist, slamming her elbow into his arm instead. 

They stare at each other for another awful second of rage. But he doesn’t push it any further, just glares at her, that horrible profound bitterness lurking in the set of his eyebrows. She faintly realizes she’s death-gripping each of their arms, barely restraining their fists from flying at her face.

“You’re adults,” Linh says at last. “Act like it. I think you can have a stricking conversation without turning into toddlers.”

Yao just stares dead-eyed past her, straight at Leon— 

Who abruptly shakes free of Linh’s hand holding him back, and even as she reaches out to him, he’s already heading out the door, leaning down to grab his backpack.

His hands are shaking. When he looks back at her, his eyes are wet, crying, painful. 

The stare they hold is brief, but Linh tries to communicate, to reassure him as best she can: _it’s okay. Go._

If he understands, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Linh waits, watches as he pushes through the door and out into the street, hunched over with his hood over his face. As soon as he’s out of sight, Yao shakes free of her grip in a way that makes it very clear she was never really holding him back to begin with.

“Do that one more time,” he says lowly, “and you’re never seeing my sister again.”

“She’s an adult,” Linh says back, holding his glare and straightening up. “I think that’s her decision to make.”

She tries to keep herself level. A cold tingle runs down her spine nonetheless, radiating unpleasantly through her back and hips, making her hands tremble. 

_This whole thing is just… delusional. Absolutely stricking delusional. He’s— they’re doing worse than I thought._

“You have no right to butt in, regardless,” Yao mutters.

“As if you weren’t having a stricking dogfight in front of me?” Linh challenges. “He’s barely an adult. You’re his _brother._ Don’t tell me you two are beating the crackle out of each other on a regular basis.”

“You talk like that, and you want data from me,” he says, face twisted wryly. “You’re sure?”

 _I’ll stricking kill you,_ is what that face means, _and I mean it._ And he does. Linh’s seen it enough times to know.

Something cold and hopeless floods her, something creeping up into her and screaming against futility. _I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just let him get away with acting like that to his stricking brother—_

 _Do I even care? Why am I_ trying _to care so much?_

_No, I’ll talk to Mei about it. Maybe we can figure something out. Maybe we can get Leon, too, I just…_

Well, she’s confused, really— unsure, because the reality of the situation is that it’s entirely Leon’s choice to be here at all— it’s entirely crackle to burn her bridges when she barely has a path in the first place. Yao knows this. Mei knows this, Leon knows this, bust, Francis probably knows it, and Linh finds herself lost for the nth time.

What is she even trying to do here?

“Just,” she says, choking on her words. “Just give me the data. From last week.”

Yao raises an eyebrow, his hair still slightly disheveled from before. He looks alarmingly old in that moment, the buzzing lights catching on a different person, flashing up from another reality with far too many lines in his face.

“Please,” Linh tacks on, “and thank you.”

Yao’s eyebrow stays raised. But he turns to start tapping on the screen sitting behind the counter, an action that somehow doesn’t ease her nerves in the slightest.

_And it’s not even over. I have that meeting with Moreira in a few hours…_

“Here,” Yao drawls, flicking a couple windows across the screen. “Drummed it to you. Happy?”

Frankly, not at all. Linh accepts the notification pinging up on her view anyway.

* * *

“Meg—” Amelia calls, her walk slipping into a jog, then a sprint. “Meg, wait!”

Meg doesn’t turn around, not even when Amelia plants her hand firmly on her shoulder and pulls. Behind them, their coworkers are subvocing to each other so aggressively Amelia can almost pick out what they’re saying, and her boss’s footsteps plod closer— Meg just keeps walking, her face stony and deadened.

_She feels just like a statue, a machine, a…_

“Meg,” she says again, hisses it quietly as she tries to keep up. “Come on, let’s just…”

 **Meg > ** I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m going home   
**>** can we please go into your office?   
**Meg >** I don’t have anything to say to you?   
**>** meg. can we just ping   
**>** i seriously don’t understand   
**>** anything

The relief Amelia feels when Meg turns to enter her office is immeasurable, and she just manages to squeeze in before the door slides shut behind her. Meg takes a seat in her desk chair, her desk now empty, her whole office completely barren. Amelia is barely sitting on the floor when her ping window lights up again.

 **Meg >** why would you do all of that? all of today too do you have any idea how humiliating that was?

Her face is still impassive, but Amelia can see the wide gleam of the overhead lights in her now-teary eyes.

 **Meg > ** they think I’m a victim. I’ve been in your shadow for so long and that’s fine but I can’t even escape it when I’m leaving it doesn’t make any sense   
**Meg >** I thought you would hold off on the power tripping for a day and let me leave in peace   
**Meg >** now they hate you even more and their last I don’t know their last perception of me is the same weak innocent crackle and I don’t understand why you have to do this every time

Her throat bobs rapidly, her voice audibly whispering, Meg’s equivalent of yelling on ping— and then it stops, and they—

Stare at each other. Amelia gulps, unable to look away—

 **>** i thought… why do you care?   
**Meg > ** I don’t it’s just humiliating.   
**Meg >** and I don’t know why you want to facilitate my humiliation   
**>** it doesn’t matter what they think of you though   
**Meg >** it doesn’t it just stricking sucks? okay?   
**Meg >** do you understand that? can you have a little bit of I don’t know empathy for once? do you even know what that is?   
**>** meg, what’s going on   
**Meg >** why. do you keep. asking me that.

She puts her face in her hands. Amelia’s entire body feels like it’s freezing up and shattering apart, icy cold running through each artery and cracking into a million pieces—

_I really don’t understand. I don’t know how I’m supposed to fix this, I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know why every single thing I do makes her explode, I don’t know what to say to defuse things. It’s like she’s just taking something out on me._

Amelia tries to take a deep breath, although it bottoms out shallowly.

 **>** i thought we were doing this together   
**>** i’m sorry i just wanted to understand   
**>** i just thought   
**> **i don’t know

Meg looks up, dead-eyed behind her luxes, fingers digging into her face.

 **Meg >** doing what

_Okay. Okay, work with it._

**> ** our plans? right?   
**> ** i thought we were working together   
**>** i don’t know why you’re so raged about my promotion or any of this or like   
**>** why you’re resigning? why are you doing that, you still haven’t really   
**>** i don’t know i just don’t understand   
**>** like what happened to getting to the top together?   
**>** dismantling the propaganda machine from the inside, creating its collapse?   
**>** everything I’ve done has been for that, this promotion included   
**>** all the changes I’ve implemented are things we’ve discussed before. why have you been so confused about that?   
**>** do you just not care anymore?

A long, long pause, one where they silently stare at each other again, Amelia’s heartbeat thudding loudly. Meg still doesn’t move.

At last:

 **Meg >** I should ask you the same question.   
**Meg >** of course I care   
**Meg >** but do you?   
**>** of course I do???   
**Meg >** no, really   
**Meg >** do you really want to change things? do you really think you’re doing good by assimilating and playing the same game they’re playing?   
**Meg >** you can’t act like you’re some vigilante crusader of justice   
**Meg >** you’re not. you are never going to get that validation from jumping through the hoops   
**Meg >** and they are never never never letting you get to the top no matter what   
**>** you can’t say that   
**Meg >** I can   
**Meg >** you can’t win. not here   
**> ** meg that’s just not true   
**Meg >** for the last six months you’ve been on a complete power trip. you can’t deny that crackle   
**Meg >** you’ve lost sight of everything   
**Meg >** and I’ve realized this is all for nothing

Amelia clears her throat, suddenly made aware of the painful lump that makes it hard to say anything above a whisper.

“Why?”

Meg doesn’t respond— instead, she reaches up to turn off her luxes, standing up and brushing past Amelia— there’s a raw agony on her face, an immense strain. 

_What can’t you just tell me?_

_Why can’t you just say it? Why can’t we talk?_

_Why do you keep sabotaging us?_

_Me?_

Amelia is left there on the floor, this nth argument weighing so heavy on her head it feels like it’ll tear through. Faintly, lurking in the very back of her hearing, the adstream keeps chattering on.

Eventually, she gets up and gets out— the sterility of Meg’s empty office is just too much. The office is mostly empty now, save for a couple people working overtime at their desks, and she’s just about to call a cab home when someone taps her on the shoulder.

“Amelia! There you are,” they say, and Amelia turns to see none other than Bonnefoy raising a wry eyebrow at her. “How are you? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“Oh, Francis!” she says back, putting on a wide grin and sticking out a hand, which he lazily shakes. “I’m great, how are you?”

“Good, good,” he says. “I heard you got that promotion, eh?”

“Yes, I most definitely did,” Amelia says. She doesn’t let the grin drop, doesn’t let herself breathe until it settles down onto her face.

Francis claps her on the back with a smile. “Oh, we simply have to catch up, then. Shall we?”

“Naturally,” Amelia chuckles, and some internal part of her is just begging to go home, even as another voice screams to focus on networking and stay far away from Meg right now.

So they make their way out of the office and down the elevator, chatting idly about nothing in particular. Francis tells her about some of the usual office gossip and client drama— Amelia cracks jokes about her bosses— and it’s normal. Completely normal, even as they step into the canteen, so normal Amelia can’t help breathing a long sigh of relief as she finally sits down with something fizzy. Francis just gives her that same wry look, nursing a shallow cup of water.

“What,” she says.

“Oh, nothing,” he says, smoothing his hair out of his face. “Just seems like you had a long day today.”

“Tell me about it,” Amelia snorts. “I’ve been moving around the song clearance process to make it more efficient, you know, because I actually care about my employees being able to do their jobs…”

“Pushback?”

She rolls her eyes. “So. Much. Pushback. It’s ridiculous, you’d think they’d be happy about having less work.”

Francis chuckles, absently swirling the water in his cup. “So it goes. Really, how’d you come up with something so controversial?”

_Figuring out the best way to make this whole thing fall apart. Weakening the seams, letting it balloon and rot and crash down into pieces, bursting the bubble._

“I’m just that much of a genius, I guess,” Amelia says, keeping her voice easy and smiling.

Francis smiles back, although his eyes are piercing, dissecting. Something in her stomach turns uneasily. They don’t say much to each other after that, not for a few long and awkward minutes.

“So,” Amelia finally says— _I’m feeling entirely too uneasy. I think I need to go home._ “It was good to talk! But I think I should go home. My sister’s waiting.”

“Ah, Meg,” Francis remarks, his face soft. “Is she feeling any better after today?”

“Oh, she will,” Amelia says.

“Good to hear,” Francis replies. “Are you two having a bit of a fight right now? Things seem…”

Amelia waves a flippant hand, trying to chuckle nonchalantly. “Oh, not at all. She’s just had a rough time, you know?”

“I see. Has she had some kind of support system around her lately?”

Amelia blinks. _I…_

_Don’t know. Am I her support system? Wait, if we’re fighting right now, I can’t exactly be that, can I… is there something I’m missing here? Should I know this?_

“Oh, it’s an obvious answer, I realize,” Francis says, waving a flippant hand in return. “Of course she does, all those friends of hers… yes, that question really was out of pure instinct, I see that now. No worries. I hope she’s back to feeling like her old self soon, hmm?”

If Amelia felt cold before, frostbite is creeping up her fingers now. “Oh, yeah, definitely,” she says. Grins, again. “You know Meg. It’ll all work out eventually.”

“Indeed it will,” Francis says. “Cheers to all that, and good luck.”

“Uh, thank you,” Amelia replies. “But, uh, good luck for what?”

Francis just shrugs, that same expression on his face. Amelia sits there like a cowed child, staring down at her cup, her head reeling enough that it blurs out everything else in her head.

_What does he mean, those friends of hers? Does he know something I don’t, or is he just pulling it out of his ass? What is so damn wrong here?_

_And why can’t I shake this stricking feeling?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> net: catchall term that can be applied to government, corporations, cops, authority, and so forth
> 
> lims: basically this means normie shit lol. normal people, societal conventions and rules, all of that
> 
> pinging/drumming: texting, connecting devices, talking, etc
> 
> thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> come and hang out with me on [tumblr!](https://cupofkey.tumblr.com)


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